


Let there be Light

by Olivier_Mira



Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-20 00:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12421050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olivier_Mira/pseuds/Olivier_Mira
Summary: After Muzaka’s sacrifice on Rai’s behalf, Rai is very sad and has resumed his window-gazing. Franky tries to leave him alone in his grief, but it's killing him. Angst ensues.





	Let there be Light

**Author's Note:**

> Franky gets all science-y in this one, so some terms may need to be defined: a rhizome is a type of root structure that plants like ferns have, in which they are all connected underground by a single horizontal root. The double helix is the structure of the DNA molecule, the basis for all living things, shaped kind of like a twisted ladder. The rungs of the ladder are made up of molecular structures called bases (technically, nucleobases. You don't need to know this, but it would make sense to Frankenstein).
> 
> Continuity-wise, this fic directly follows 483 in the canon, which sends my previous fic Closer into its own separate continuity (because the Noblesse authors are clearly out to drive me mad). Also Muzaka's ultimate fate is unclear at the end of 483, but the readers know that his body is currently with Kentas and the other surviving werewolves. For the purpose of this fic, Rai and Franky are unaware of this.

If there was anything else left that needed dusting in the entire house, Frankenstein couldn’t find it. He’d already removed every single item from his trophy case and inspected each one multiple times, even though the case was supposedly dust-proof. _Dust-proof: ha! Nothing is impervious to the detritus that invades the inner workings of every known object in existence. Dust is ubiquitous. It is one of the three constants of the universe: death, taxes and bloody dust._

There _had_ to be something else that needed cleaning. He’d already scoured the kitchen within an inch of its life, causing the rest of the denizens of the household to give him a wide berth. It had been incredibly satisfying to scrub behind the stove: how on earth had that much grime accumulated without Frankenstein’s knowledge? Such a tragic oversight must not be repeated. Maybe he could assign Takeo the task of finding elusive dirt around the house? As a sniper, Frankenstein bet he would be pretty good at it. Not as good as Frankenstein himself, of course, but that bar was quite high.

 _Maybe this is good. I’ve identified several areas of concern around the house that I might not have noticed if not for… the current situation._ The current situation which was _not at all driving him mad, nope, not a bit._ He was already mad. This was turning him into a certified lunatic.

No matter how much he polished, washed and vacuumed, it was impossible to scrub away the problem at hand: _Master wasn’t okay._ And Frankenstein couldn’t do anything about it. Raizel wasn’t okay, which meant Frankenstein wasn’t okay, which meant the one person to whom Frankenstein could turn to when he wasn’t okay wasn’t available right now, which was making him literally insane.

He knew Raizel and he knew what he needed to do at times like these: he needed to sit at his window, alone, like he did in Lukedonia all those years ago. Somehow staring out the window put his Master into a trance-like state that would help him process the fact that the person who had been his only friend in the world for a thousand years had just sacrificed himself on his behalf. Meanwhile, Frankenstein had to find something to do with himself. Hence, obsessive cleaning.

Concerning Muzaka, Frankenstein didn’t know what to think. He wanted to be angry with him for all the pain he had caused Raizel, but he was nevertheless grateful that against all odds, the wolf had found a way to restore a part of his Master’s lifeforce. _This is just like that time with Raskreia and that damned sword. Is there some reason no one consults me on any of their batshit crazy plans??_

Grasping at his hair in futility, he resumed pacing. _Twenty-one steps from the kitchen to the living room. Thirteen steps to the foot of the stairs. Sixteen steps up to Master’s room - no,_ no, stop, _stop._ He checked the clock for the 50 th time this hour. It was 5:46 AM. Still too early to check on Raizel. At 6 AM, he could attempt to serve his Master tea. Although he would likely be refused once again, just as he had been for the past two days, and it would cut him like a serrated knife to the gut as it did every single time. Nevertheless, it was his duty to serve his Master and he would not abandon his post.

If his Master didn’t need him – didn’t _want_ him – that was okay. It really _wasn’t_ okay, but it was preferable to the idea that Raizel could be in there _needing_ him and Frankenstein was too caught up in his own bullshit to notice. Otherwise he could just go lose himself in fighting or working in his lab. But he couldn’t make himself do those things. If there was even a chance that he could detect the smallest tremor along their bond, the tiniest cry for help, he needed to be there.

Meanwhile, he was trying in vain to keep his own anxiety and distress to himself. He knew that Raizel was somewhat less conscious of what was going on around him in his introspective state, but the last thing he wanted was to interrupt his Master’s process with his own pathetic neediness. _It’s fine. I’m fine._

His shaking hands said otherwise, however, as he spilled sugar all over the counter trying to sweeten the tea to his Master’s liking. _I’m as bad as the kids,_ he thought as he grabbed a sponge to wipe up the mess he had created. _If this keeps up, we’ll get ants, and then I’ll seriously have to murder someone._ He stopped, his hands braced on the sides of the sink, trying to breathe. _It’s okay. Master will be okay. It will just take some time._

But a part of him wasn’t so sure about that. Although Raizel had tried to shield him from the brunt of his pain, it still bled through their bond like a freshly bandaged wound. Despite the fact that Frankenstein arguably knew Raizel better than anyone currently living, truthfully, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend the depth and the magnitude of the burden his Master carried. Muzaka wasn’t the first person whom he loved to die or nearly die by his own hand. There were so many others, many of whom Frankenstein had never met and would never know. All of them weighed heavily on Raizel’s soul, despite the fact that he was to blame for none of them.

Frankenstein was no stranger to pain, anguish and sorrow. But there was a fundamental difference between himself and his Master: everything that had happened to him, Frankenstein, was his own fault. He knew very well that if it were possible to tear a soul in half and examine its insides, his own would be bitter, resentful, vengeful and downright murderous. The fact that the hideous voices of the Dark Spear haunted him day and night was his own damned fault. He was the one who stole that horrible weapon from the Union and learned to wield it. He was the one with the ravenous, unquenchable thirst for knowledge. How could he bemoan being one of the Damned when he had paved the road to Hell himself?

His Master, however, had never asked for his role and had never hurt a living soul without provocation. Raizel had only ever desired a peaceful existence. Yet cruel fate had decreed that he be forced to kill his own kin and those whom he loved over and over again. He was literally an angel with wings dipped in blood. Frankenstein knew his Master’s tender heart, his deeply compassionate and caring soul, not only from having witnessed it, but because it had been the path to his own salvation. How must it feel to one with such an enormous heart to have it shatter? Frankenstein could barely stand the thought of it.

Whenever Frankenstein despaired, it was always Raizel who pulled him back towards the light. But what could Frankenstein do in return? If his Master felt despair, what words could he possibly use to comfort him? _That yes, in fact, the world is full of hateful people who are out to hurt you?_ _And if I had it my way, I would murder every single one of them on your behalf?_ How exactly was that going to help? Frankenstein was at a loss.

Straightening his tie, he carefully placed the delicate teacup onto the serving tray and made his way up the staircase. _Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen stairs. Nine steps across the black and white floor; careful not to step on the cracks. One, two, three…_ He paused as he approached the double doors to his Master’s room. Frankenstein was sure he had suffered worse torture in his life, but at the moment, he couldn’t recall anything more painful than standing right here, right now, bracing himself to be rejected once again by the one he loved most in the world.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the wooden door. “Master. Tea is ready.” He tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice, knowing that he probably failed.

The silence was deafening. 

Frankenstein couldn’t help it: he shuddered, pressing his forehead against the door. _Master._ Without meaning to, he allowed a frisson of anguish to escape, falling like a teardrop along the tapestry of their bond. Immediately he panicked, backing away from the door, nearly dropping the tea service. He was halfway in between stair eight and nine when he felt a faint yet familiar tug on the other end of their bond. It was almost as if Raizel were miles away as opposed to right in the next room.

_Master?_

The tug came again, more insistent this time. _Was something wrong?_ Frankenstein dropped the tray, pausing only briefly to make sure it didn’t crash to the floor, then he flew up the stairs and threw open the double doors. “Master!”

Nothing seemed amiss, however: Raizel sat motionless in his chair by the window, just as he had been sitting for the past two days. Not to be deterred, Frankenstein knelt down by his Master’s chair, taking his hand. _Master. Are you all right?_

Had he been overreacting? Maybe he shouldn’t have disturbed him after all. But now that Frankenstein was here, in his Master’s presence, he was beginning to unravel. He pressed his forehead against Raizel’s hand, tears escaping unwillingly. “Master, I’m so sorry. I tried not to bother you. I’m so- I-I’m so-”

Raizel’s hand moved ever so slowly, coming to rest on top of Frankenstein’s head.

**_…frankenstein._ **

His Master’s voice along their bond still sounded so far away. Frankenstein came closer, pulling himself in front of the armchair, taking both of Raizel’s hands in his. _Yes, Master?_

**_…come with me?_ **

Frankenstein wasn’t sure what he meant, but it was clear that his Master needed him. So he did the one thing that he knew would immediately strengthen their bond. Tearing off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he summoned a single claw and slashed at his own throat. Then he climbed into Raizel’s lap and offered his neck to his Master.

As soon as Frankenstein’s blood met Raizel’s lips, a thousand vivid images appeared. Frankenstein could feel himself sinking down, down, following something… a system of roots, buried deep, deep underground. The roots moved downward for a very long time, but then suddenly spread out, moving horizontally through the earth, like a rhizome.

This great rhizome was alive with Raizel’s energy, a crimson fire blazing a path straight through the earth. It seemed to stretch on endlessly, occasionally sending up taproots, but always eventually returning to the ruby red fire below.

Frankenstein realized with a start that he was staring at the entirety of his Master’s very being, this great expanse that represented century after century of perpetual existence. Roots would travel upward and be met by others, occasionally coexisting, but more often than not, those former companions would be devoured by the scarlet flames, strangled by the stronger roots. Whenever this happened, the earth would be stained with blood, and all of that lovely crimson fire would retreat deep underground, as if in mourning.

 _So this is where Master goes when he sleeps._ Frankenstein was in awe of how incredibly beautiful Raizel’s life energy was up close, like liquified rubies. But what truly astounded him was the sheer weight of the sorrow that his Master carried. It was nearly too much for Frankenstein to bear, even as a witness. Here he could see each and every one of his losses in living color: Raizel’s brother, each of the traitor Nobles, and especially Edain, whom he knew his Master had dearly loved. Her sacrifice clearly still pained him.

Muzaka’s roots were nearly as thick as Raizel’s and Frankenstein had to begrudgingly admit that the former werewolf Lord’s flowing silver energy was quite striking. He also couldn’t help but notice that when his Master’s and Muzaka’s roots ran side by side, Raizel’s crimson stream became all that more vibrant.

When Raizel and Muzaka clashed, the shock was so powerful that it nearly knocked Frankenstein straight back into his body, but he held on, wanting to experience everything as his Master had experienced it. It wounded him terribly to see Raizel’s magnificent red phoenix energy reduced to a trickle, a spark, barely detectable, as Frankenstein knew very well, having searched so many years for him in vain.

What he did not expect, however, was the appearance of a strange, purplish vine, studded with thorns, that wound its way around, hither and thither. The wayward vine did not seem to be governed by any of the rules that bound the other entities; it traveled where it pleased, often wreaking havoc in its path. It eventually intersected with his Master’s red rhizome and when the two connected, the scientist in Frankenstein was momentarily distracted in fascination. They created a double helix, its bases glowing in the spaces where they touched, giving off a light that was twice as bright as either strand alone.

It didn’t occur to Frankenstein what the errant vine represented until he noticed what followed. The same process kept happening to Raizel, the same cruel fate, the same grueling losses… but the double helix somehow made the red rhizome twice as strong. And when it became too much, and his Master had to retreat underground… what kept him going and gave him the strength to rise again were those points of light where the red and violet strands crossed paths.

The violet vine covered in thorns was Frankenstein himself.

At that realization he was jolted back into his body with a start, only to realize that he had somehow become a crying, bleeding mess. Ashamed, he immediately began summoning his power to fix himself, but Raizel, who was now awake, stopped him.

**_Allow me._ **

Frankenstein was so used to having anxiety attacks whenever Raizel used his waning powers that he panicked out of habit, but then he remembered that his Master’s life energy had been restored recently and a huge wave of relief washed over him. It had been so long since he had been able to fully accept everything his Master had to give him: calm, peace, reassurance, and _love._ Pure, undiluted, unconditional love. An entire red ocean of it.

 _Master. I was so worried for you. So afraid._ Frankenstein buried his face in his Master’s neck, shivering all over.

 ** _I know. I’m sorry to have worried you._** Raizel stroked Frankenstein’s hair gently, his arms wrapped tightly around him.

_Master. You never have to apologize to me. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I shouldn’t…_

Raizel lifted Frankenstein’s chin, cupping his face in his delicate hands. “Frankenstein. Didn’t you see? You are my Light. How could you ever be a bother?”

Frankenstein choked on a sob, wrapping his arms around his Master’s neck, tears springing anew. _Master…_

Raizel held him, rubbing gentle circles into his back. ** _Thank you for bringing me tea. I could not respond, but I could feel your Light._**

This didn’t make any sense to Frankenstein: how could his Master look at him and see light? He was the veritable Prince of Darkness. All his time was spent beating back the desire to give in to the Dark Spear and slaughter everyone in sight.

 ** _That’s why._** Raizel answered his unspoken question. **_You fight. You fight with everything you have to protect those whom you love. Do you not see how this creates Light?_**

Frankenstein would not have believed it, but he could not deny what he had seen. Somehow, despite all of his shortcomings, he managed to be of value to his Master. Out of all that he had accomplished in his life, this was the one achievement that made him feel the most pride. He nestled in closer to Raizel, pressing his ear to his Master’s chest, focusing on his strong heartbeat. _Safe._

They stayed like this for quite some time, watching the rising sun send its brilliant beams of light through the window. Frankenstein realized just how exhausted he was: he had hardly slept at all in the past two days. Now that he knew his Master was okay, perhaps he would finally be able to rest.

_Master. I am… truly sorry. About Muzaka._

Frankenstein could feel the ache in his Master’s heart, still tender, crimson blood still seeping quietly into the earth. Raising his head, he gently pressed a kiss to Raizel’s soft cheek, letting his lips linger there. _I will help you bear this pain._

Raizel tightened his hold on Frankenstein as a very slight tremor went through him, like a tree branch quivering in the wind. **_Thank you, My Light._**

A feeling of deep warmth flooded Frankenstein, like being wrapped in the softest of rosy blankets. He realized that he was experiencing something he hadn’t felt in a very long time: pure contentment. The sun was warm, his Master was safe, he was cradled in his arms. He could hear the gears winding on the 300 year old grandfather clock by the fireplace that he had found for Raizel, similar to the one they had once had in Lukedonia. It was about to strike the hour: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven…

 _Eight??_ How had it gotten so late already? Frankenstein started flailing his long limbs in every direction, nearly toppling them out of the small chair. “M-Master! It is eight o’clock and you have not yet had your tea! I left it on the stair to get cold! I must-”

But Raizel stopped him, his hands gripping Frankenstein’s wrists like a vise. “Frankenstein. You must sleep.”

“B-But Master!”

“You have stayed awake worrying for the past two days, have you not?”

“Y-yes, but-”

Raizel was not interested in excuses. Swiftly rising from the chair, he swept Frankenstein up in his arms and brought him straight to his four poster bed in the corner of the room. A flash of his crimson eyes and the scarlet velvet curtains closed around them.

 ** _Sleep, my Light. Stop worrying._** He pulled Frankenstein close to him, continuing to gently smooth his fingers through his hair. **_Sleep._**

Frankenstein gave up and let himself be soothed, relishing in his Master’s touch. As he drifted slowly into slumber, he was comforted by a single thought: _No matter what wrongs I may have committed in the past, I am my Master’s Light. And that is all that matters._


End file.
